The Cage
by Ashley A
Summary: Angel angst, a phone call, and a batting cage.


Spoilers through Buffy TVS series finale, and ATS episode "Destiny".

Pg-13 for language.

Angel angst, a phone call, and a batting cage.

Enjoy!

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            Crack!

            The ball whistles through the thin night air, and lands softly in the grass right by right field.

            Crack!

            The next one follows it's brother, landing a few feet away from the first.

            Crack!

            This one heads for the stands, but no one catches it.

            Whiff!

            Angel swings mightily through the air, emulating perfectly the vision of mighty Casey striking out.  His bat lands squarely on the ground, and he huffs over to pick it up, embarrased that he lost his grip on the thing.

            The cages are empty; he's the sole person there.  Considering that Wolfram and Hart own the place, it's not surprising.

            The pitching machine whirrs, and he's ready for the next ball.

            Whiff!

            Again.  Not good for the ego.

            He's gonna be ready this time.

            Crack!  And the balls outta there.  But so's his bat, which splits down the middle, leaving him holding a wicked looking wooden stake with a round end.  He pitches it away from himself as fast as he can.

            Being a vampire and holding a large wooden sharp object near your own heart isn't the most comforting thing for him to do right now.

            Sighing, he turns off the pitching machine with it's remote control, and walks over to the small metal bleachers set up on the edge of left field.

            Plops down, and considers things.  Which he really doesn't want to do.

            His face is almost healed from the beating he took at Spike's hands, and his ribs still creak painfully, but they're almost done healing as well.  Fred had told him she could have him all better just like that! but he didn't want to let her help him.  Wearing the bruises on his face and body kept him from forgetting.

            And God knows forgetting led him to the situation in the first place.

            Forgetting how determined Spike could be when he wanted to be.

            Forgetting how it felt to slap him down, and not be opposed.

            Forgetting for one second that he really wanted to be the one to get there first.

            And damned if he didn't try.  But just not hard enough.

            And the barbs Spike had thrown at him had hurt.  More than he had expected.  

            And what if he was right?

            What if Spike had wanted his humanity just a little more than Angel had?

            "Try saving the world a few times; then come talk to me."

            Selfish.  It's not about the times, or the sacrifices, or the quantity.  Angel's a little ashamed he even had those thoughts.  But, come on, he's been fighting and sacrificing and trying so damn hard for so long; to have his reward, his destiny snatched away from him by a stripling no less, and even more horrifying by Spike, is an event he doesn't know if he can forget.

            And then there's love.  And the notion of honor for love.

            Spike had said his soul had been acquired for the right reason; because it was the right thing to do.  Angel's had been forced upon him by a curse.  He hadn't asked for it or wanted it.  So does that make him less a man than Spike?  Does that make him less deserving?  Over the years and decades he's come to accept his burden, but there's the thing…is it screwing him over to see it like that?  and does  he even really see his soul like that?

            He knows he doesn't.  Not anymore.  He's learned to look at as a gift.  A burden most definitely; but sometimes the best gifts start as unwanted things.  Every cloud has a silver lining; It's always darkest before the dawn; etcetera.  He feels it in his gut, and knows through experience just how precious his burden is to him.

            And there've been so many times, so many instances, that the most unbelieveable horrid crap has happened to him and the people he loves because of it; but he still keeps on trying, because trying is the right thing to do.  And so what if he hadn't wanted the gift in the first place?  It's his now, and he'll be damned if after all that struggle, and heartache, and sacrifice, and pain, that his reward would be given to another.  

            One who wants it to impress a girl, and who could care less about the innocents saved when he had sacrificed himself. 

            Angel sighs heavily; he's had it up to here with this analyzing and thinking things over and over crap.  He stands, grabs a non shattered bat, and heads back to the cage, determined not to contemplate her green eyes, her blond hair, or the way she could kick his ass in about three seconds flat.

            He picks up the remote for the pitching machine, and with a click switches it on and to 'fastball- Billy Wagner' mode.  He whips his sweater over his head, a lot easier to move, he thinks, and readies the bat as the machine clunks to life.  

            He is a blur of pale skin and white tanktop as he swings at the ball.  100 miles per hour and counting.  

            Crack!

            Soaring into the night sky, the ball, now more of a bomb hit off the end of his bat, lands in the upper deck of the outfield.

            And he still keeps hitting.  One after another, and each time the wood connects, he grunts, teeth clinched together, brow furrowed, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.  Each time seeing the blonde vampire's face on the round object, and each time imagining the bat to be his own fist landing in Spike's face.

            Crack….grunt…swing…sweat…grind…crack…grunt…crack…grunt…swing…

            Over and over, like a man possessed of the spirit of Babe Ruth, or at least a totally sober Mickey Mantle, Angel sends ball after ball into the empty green field.

            He finally stops when the pitching machine has run out of balls.

            He stands, arms moving restlessly, sweat dripping from his forehead.  He throws the bat, hoping it will land somewhere near the others in their plastic holders, and tromps over to his duffel bag and car keys.

            At home, he steps into the shower, and blasts it as hot as he can stand.  Considering he has no body temperature but the same one of the room he's currently in, the hot water feels great, and he lets the salty tang of sweat wash down the drain.

            Doing some kind of physical excersise had always helped him deal with stuff before; the tai chi, yoga, and martial arts he practices always brought some kind of calm to his soul.  This time, no such luck. 

            Of course, as soon as the water hits his body, the phone rings.

            Grumbling, he shuts off the water, and heads dripping to the cell phone by his bed.

            "This better be good," he rumbles through the phone.

            "Well, I always try to be interesting, but sometimes I can't promise, you know?"

            He almost drops the hand set.

            "Buffy?"

            "Hey, Angel."

            "What…where are you?"

            "England, actually.  Giles and I have been doing the family visit thing, and what do you know, I've grown tired of 'can I get you some tea?' or 'do you want a crumpet' so I decided to come back to the hotel by myself for a while.  Did you know that the British museum is actually kind of boring?"

            He grins to hear her flippant voice.  "Well, it's not boring to me, but I find it kind of hard to believe you don't like the Egyptian stuff.  There are a lot of ancient and really beautiful things in that collec-"

            "Angel, remember my run in with an Incan mummy?  I don't want to look at any kind of mummy anymore.  Ever.  Again.  You know?  Just don't seem to have much luck with them."

            "oh, yeah.  I had kind of forgotten about that one…hey, can you hold on?"

            "Uh, sure," she says, slightly miffed.

            "Sorry," he says a few seconds later.  "I was dripping, and needed a robe," and then realizes how embarrassing that sounds to actually say it.

            "uh…did I interrupt something?"  he can hear the blush in her voice.

            "No, just a shower.  So to what do I owe the pleasure of a middle of the night transatlantic phone call?"

            "oh, nothing really.  Like I said, Giles' relatives equal mucho boring.  And it's just me and him right now.  Dawn's in LA with dad, actually.  Everybody else has kind of gone their separate ways.  I'll be back soon, I guess.  I just…needed a break, you know?"

            "Yeah, I know."

            _Does she know about him?  About Spike?_

"So…how're you?  Any new stuff going on?"

            "What?  Oh, no, not really.  Same old same old.  Law stuff, lots of demon fighting…halloween party, nothing too exciting."  A fake cup full of fake promises.  But he's not gonna share that tidbit with her.  Right now he wants her all to himself.  Just him and Buffy and the phone, no Spike, no angst ridden discussions about their future, and above all, no arguing.  He doesn't think he could take that right now.

            "Halloween party?  **you** went to a Halloween party?  Color me totally shocked."

            "Actually, we hosted it here.  For the clients."

            "oh?  Did you go in costume?  Did Wesley?  Ooh, I would have loved to see you guys partying like that-"

            "Actually,no costumes.  It didn't turn out that well.  But I'd rather not talk about it," he jumps in, memories of getting it on with Eve behind the couch flashing through his mind, causing him to wince involuntarily.

            "…um, okay.  So what else is new?"

            "…nothing really, Buffy.  …how are you?  You seem to be pretty cheerful," he says, and she's quiet.

            "Well, you know what 'fine' stands for, right?" she answers finally.

            "No?" he says.

            "Fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional," she answers, and laughs a bit harshly.  "I heard that from some friend of Xander's who heard it in an AA meeting.  Pretty apropriate right now, actually."

            "Buffy…" he starts, and she interrupts him.

            "It's okay, Angel.  I'm just feeling a bit of…aftershock, I guess.  After the last six months, it's like I just can't relax, you know?  It's like somethings always around the corner, and it's coming for me.  But I know theoretically that's not true.  I just…I just wanted to hear your voice, honestly.  You always make me feel better.  Even if I can't see you," she finishes, and he feels a little of the anger and confusion he had been feeling drop away.

            "I know the feeling."

            _She's smiling, I can tell._

"Well, I don't want to keep you on too long, and God knows how long the hot water will last…but it's really good to hear your voice.  I'm serious, Angel.  I miss you," her voice is soft, and he's touched, but confused as well.

            "When are you coming home, Buffy?"

            Silence.

            "Buffy?"

            "I…don't know, Angel.  There's a lot of things here that need to be worked on.  Rebuilding the watchers council for one thing…"

            "You want to help rebuild the council?"

            "Hey, they aren't all bad…plus the information lost in the explosion was invaluable.  They need help trying to relocate it.  And what the hell else am I going to do now?"

            "…you could come see me," he says, and gulps.  _Where did that come from?_

"I will, I promise.  Just…not yet.  But soon.  I have to go, Angel.  But call anytime, okay?  You have the number on caller ID, right?"

            "uh, yeah.  If I can figure out how to work it."

            She laughs.  "You never were good with machines, were you?"

            "Nah, I'm more of personal contact person."

            They say nothing, just listen to sound of the other through the handset.

            "You take care of yourself, Buffy.  Stay in touch, okay?  I worry when I don't hear from you," he says at last.

            "I will.  You too.  And Angel…"

            "yeah?"

            "I…" she sighs.  "No matter what, you know I love you, right?"

            He smiles broadly, and feels a little like his old self, if only for a few moments.

            "I love you, too.  Please be careful."

            "Always.  I don't know any other way to be.  Bye."

            And she's gone.

            She doesn't know about Spike.

            And God forgive him, he's not gonna be the one to tell her.

            Getting dressed, he grabs his keys and heads for the door, knowing the rest of the night won't be spent in sleep.

            The thoughts whirling in his head have picked up again, and he doesn't know if he'll ever find an answer for the questions he's been asking himself.

            He knows that the pitching machine is in for a rough rest of the night, however.


End file.
